


Mistigris

by orphan_account



Category: Lord of the Rings (Novel)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-03
Updated: 2007-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before the war, a young man and two children take a break to watch the clouds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistigris

"I think it looks like a horse," said Éomer, chewing thoughtfully on straw.

Éowyn pursed her lips and removed the straw from her brother's mouth. "All you ever think about is horses! You'll turn into a horse one of these days."

"Wouldn't be too bad," Éomer mused. He was feeling pleasantly lethargic after lunch, and the sun was warm on his face. They couldn't feel the wind at all, lying as they were in the long grass at the foot of the hill of Edoras, and for now it felt like the winter was tarrying for a while longer. It would be a wonderful day for a gallop.

Éowyn flopped back down on her back next to her brother, and looked up at the cloud accused of equine characteristics. She focused all her eight-year-old precocity on the task, but could not find a single horse in the rolling white shapes. "I see a bird, with big wings, maybe a crow," she said confidently. "And a sword, and a snake - see that twirling cloud there? The snake is floating above the crow."

Éomer scratched his head. "I just see a horse."

Éowyn sighed, and twisted her neck to look at the thin figure sitting with his back against a rock not far from where they lay, on the side of what little shadow remained under the early afternoon sun. "Gríma, what do you think?"

The thin young man looked up at her urging. His neck was white and elongated, but the line of his chin had a lovely proud shape that drew her gaze, now accustomed to identifying shapes, to seek different flitting images in the turn of its line and the splashes of shadow on his neck. A different light, she thought, and you could see a hand there - or the hilt of a sword. She was quite unaware that her thoughts turned to swords as often as her brother's turned to horses.

"I see a tower," said Gríma at last, slowly. "And I see a garden. The garden has been left untended and wildflowers have crept over it, wilting now, before the cold wind blowing from the east. An avalanche hangs above the garden--" He lifted his hand, pointing it at the sky, though from their angle and the vastness of the sky, neither royal sibling could tell what he was inclining. "The snow will crush the garden, but the top of the tower will stay above it."

"And on the top of the tower, there's a maiden," Éowyn decided, delighted. "And a hero will come rescue her, flying on a noble, gigantic raven, and they will fly together through the sky."

Éomer laughed. "You're both silly. It's a horse. And don't heroes usually fly on eagles?"

"Well I like Gríma's version better," said Éowyn haughtily, and sat up, becoming aware at last that the back of her fine lavender bodice must be littered with scraps of dirt and grass. "And I like ravens better than eagles."

In a short while, it would be time for her lessons. The dusty library did not entice her, nor the promise of her stony-faced instructor's company; not when the sun was out and the warm days still lingered. She closed her eyes and smelled the grass and the air. She could feel Éomer's side against her thigh, and although Gríma was not touching her she could feel his gaze on the back of her head, lost somewhere among her braided curls. She smiled, and the tension began to slip away from her. For now, they were well-hidden; just the three of them, like cards in a pack before someone turned them over.

She sunk back on the ground, and watched the avalanche teeter over the garden, and the raven, preparing to take flight.


End file.
